


Petrichor

by daimonas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Grumpy Keith (Voltron), Jousting, Knight Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Renaissance Faires, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daimonas/pseuds/daimonas
Summary: Pidge, using the promise of new daggers and epic sword fights, convinces Keith to accompany she and Hunk to the local Renaissance Faire. However, upon reaching the faire, they don't find either, and Keith feels his mood quickly sour - particularly because of the awful, rainy weather. In a last-ditch effort to put Keith in a better mood, Pidge and Hunk convince him to go to the jousting event - it's not really a sword fight, but it's cute men riding on horses, so what's not to love?That's where he meets Shiro - the "Hero of England," if the jousting competition has any say in the matter. It's also where his miserable day suddenly turns around, and he begins to realize that Ren Faires really can be as exciting as everyone says they are.





	Petrichor

The air is thick with water as gusts of misting rain brush against Keith’s face. The clouds overhead are grey and roll in broad, lazy movements across the sky. A sudden squall of wind whips the droplets of mist against any point of exposed flesh and Keith sighs for the millionth time today, instinctively pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders to shield himself against the onslaught as best he can.

“Remind me again why we’re here,” he clips, extending a hand forward to accept the cup of mulled wine he had ordered. He nods at the vendor in acknowledgement before taking a half-step back towards Pidge, who had already gotten her cup of wine and was sipping at it gingerly while she scanned the crowd of people passing by.

“Because I said there’d be knife shops and sword fighting and you couldn’t contain your hard-on for either,” Pidge says dryly, not even looking in Keith’s direction.

Keith rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his wine. The wine is dry, but it had been mulled with oranges and cinnamon to add a layer of sweet to the aftertaste – the perfect drink for the cold, fall weather whipping around them. Keith smacks his lips together and finally answers Pidge, his tone flat. “And yet, I haven’t seen a single one.”

“If it’s sword fightin’ yer lookin’ for,” the vendor says, leaning out of her booth to hand a cup of mulled wine to Hunk before casting her hazel eyes over to Keith. She sets her elbow down on the counter and rests her chin against the palm of her hand, a smirk playing gently at the corners of her red-painted lips. “Ye got around a quarter of an hour ‘fore the joust starts. May wanna start makin’ yer way toward’ the Field of Dreams.”

Keith’s eyes narrow at the woman but before he can say anything, Hunk cuts him off. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll start making our way there now.”

The woman winks at Hunk and stands up straight again, waving the next customer up to the counter as Hunk steps away. Keith lifts his cup of wine to his lips and mutters, “Do they all talk like that?”

Pidge rolls her eyes and shoves her free hand in the pocket of her jacket as she turns and starts walking away. Keith and Hunk follow behind as she says, “We’re at a Renaissance Festival, Keith. Yes, they all step into character and talk like that.”

Hunk chimes in. “Yeah, lighten up, dude. You’re acting like we drug you here against your will.”

“It’s like what Pidge said. I was told there’d be badass knives and sword fights. So far, I’ve only seen women in corsets and men in feathered hats. Not really what I was wanting out of this.”

“Well let’s just go to this joust thing and see if it satiates your boredom, prissy pants,” Pidge jabs. She takes a long drink from her wine as they walk and casts her gaze back to Hunk. “You okay with that?”

Hunk shrugs, lifting his half-finished turkey leg to his mouth and tearing off a chunk between his teeth. He chews and swallows before answering, “I’m down for anything. I have food and alcohol. I’m set.”

“That’s all a man needs!” A man calls from a nearby picnic bench, holding up his own mug of ale and giant turkey leg. Hunk, ever the socialite, laughs and raises his glass of wine in a mock-toast towards the man. Pidge glances back at Hunk and smiles softly, her love for the bigger man written clear on her face. Keith feels a stab of guilt for being so moody, but the guilt dissipates when another squall of wind blasts a fresh wave of freezing mist against his face. He groans and pulls his jacket tighter around him again.

“I wish this rain would fucking stop.”

“It’s barely raining,” Pidge chides, her smile fading as she shoots a glare in Keith’s direction. Her eyes move down to the barely-touched cup of wine in his hand, then back up to his face. “Drink more wine so you get less touchy.”

In a childish display of petty behavior, Keith sticks his tongue out at Pidge but complies – lifting the cup to his lips and taking a long drink. The warmth of the drink trickles down his throat like honey, trailing its way down through his chest before settling in his stomach. It doesn’t completely stave off the cold, but it helps.

The trio walks in relative silence, sipping at their drinks along the way. It takes around ten minutes to walk the expanse of fairgrounds before they see the sign welcoming them to the “Field of Dreams.” There’s already a large group of people filing into the entrance and Keith feels the same trepidation he’d been feeling rise in him again. Keith hates crowds – particularly when the crowd is gathered in a singular spot and packed together in a way that makes moving impossible.

_Whatever. Just one event. If I make it through this, I’ll talk to them about leaving._

At the thought, he looks down into his half-full cup of wine. The dark liquid swirls around in the white paper cup, staining the sides a deep maroon color. Keith debates chugging the rest, talks himself out of it, but then looks back up at the crowd still filing through the front gates of the tournament field no more than ten feet ahead of them.

As they enter through the gates, Keith tosses his empty paper cup into the trash can to his left.

Hunk stops walking, the now-meatless turkey leg hovering over the trash can Keith had just thrown his cup in. Keith glances back, notices Hunk’s raised eyebrows, and – for the first time today – cracks a smile.  Hunk shakes his head, finally releasing the bone of the turkey leg that hits the bottom of the can with a soft _thud_ , and says, “You’ve had that wine for twelve minutes. You, sir, are going to regret that empty cup.”

Keith shrugs, knowing full well he’s probably going to get sick from how quickly he chugged the wine but not caring in the least. He can feel his face flush, warmth spread through his body, and his mind start to grow fuzzy, but the anxiety he’d been feeling about the crowd’s presence is already starting to fade. He shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk forward, looking for a decent spot to stand. Eventually, they find an empty space on the outskirts of the arena, close enough to the ring that they’d get a clear view of what was happening but far enough away from people that they wouldn’t be crowded together.

As they settle into their spot to wait for the joust to start, Hunk sidles up next to Keith, leaning to bump his shoulder against Keith’s momentarily. Keith glances over and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Hunk shrugs, but a playful smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. He looks away, out at the jousting field, before asking, “So when are you gonna start dating again?”

Keith’s eyebrows knot together, confusion written clearly on his face. “Where did that come from?”

“I dunno, man. I was just curious. You seem... I dunno, broody or something. When are you gonna find someone to turn that frown upside down?”

“I didn’t realize I _needed_ anyone to do that. And I don’t. Especially someone that’s going to require time and attention that I already can’t afford to give.”

Pidge groans and punches Keith’s arm, hard enough for him to mutter an audible _ow_. She says, “You’re so stubborn. You were just talking the other day about how you wanted to start dating again. Don’t act all aloof now that you’re sober.”

Keith ponders the statement, trying to recall when this conversation about dating happened. Assuming Pidge had mentioned “sober,” it had to have been at the party they held last weekend – the one where Keith had gotten so drunk, he forgot half the night before it was even over.

“You can’t really count drunk conversation as valid conversation. I was drunk. I get needy when I’m drunk –“

Pidge makes a show of pretending to get sick at the last statement, cutting Keith off. He rolls his eyes and shoves her shoulder lightly. “You know what I mean, Pidge. That whole ‘I feel like I’m missing something’ mentality and want someone to complete me in that moment. Then I wake up the next morning, hungover and sober, and realize how much I just... fucking hate people.”

Pidge snorts. “You’re so cliché. You just haven’t found the right person yet.”

Keith snorts right back. “And you say I’m cliché.”

They share a moment of comfortable silence, both of them exchanging soft smiles, before the blast of a horn causes Keith’s heart to stop in his chest. He fights back a surprised scream and clenches his hands into fists in his pockets, his attention thoroughly captured by the group of period-dressed actors taking their places on the castle-built stage at the back of the arena. He feels his heart start to slow its erratic beat, now aware that the horn had been a signal that the show was about to begin, and watches the procession passively. It takes all but thirty seconds before everyone is in their places. One of the women stationed in front of the thrones at center stage raises a hand in the air, calling for silence. When the crowd falls into a hushed whisper, she says, “Thank you all for coming on this historical day…”

Keith, within the first few words of the woman’s speech, feels his attention fade from the actual event at hand. The music they play in the background grabs his attention and he listens to the rise and fall of its melodies, his eyes scanning the jousting field for something actually interesting to grab his attention.

“…and now, to introduce the knights of these six kingdoms – the brave men who have volunteered their very lives to protect their nation. I call forth and welcome to the field Ser Sendak, Knight of Spain!”

Keith sees the purple point of his lance before he sees the man, but is no less surprised when a hulking, beast of a man rides his way from behind the castle. His helmet and armor are heavy, donned already so that most of his features are covered. It’s hard to miss the immense size of his figure, though, and Keith immediately feels himself shrink in response.

“Holy hell, that dude’s a giant,” Keith hears himself say, and he sees Hunk nod his head in agreement.

Keith misses the introductions of the other knights and none of the next four make quite the impression the first knight made. Keith has a hard time moving his eyes from the first knight, completely disinterested in everything and everyone else.

That is, until they introduce Shiro – the “Hero of England.”

Keith doesn’t pay much mind to the figure at first. He glances over just in time to see him ride out from behind the castle. He’s covered in plate armor, just like the other knights, and is noticeably smaller than Sendak. Keith finds his eyes quickly drifting away, back to Sendak, until he hears a group of girls yell out in unison, “Ser Shiro!”

Keith’s eyes move back to the current rider, who is currently bowing his head to the group of screaming girls. The girls look to be in their teens and all of them giggle wildly at the man’s attention. Something in the way the man moves grabs Keith’s interest and Keith feels his eyes narrow, trying to discern what about the man is so enticing. Though smaller than Sendak, he’s still bigger than Keith, and he moves with a grace that didn’t seem to fit a man of his size. He makes every movement look natural – fluid in a way that holds Keith’s attention and leaves him wanting to see more.

A sharp elbow in his side causes him to suck in a breath and he shoots an accusing look in Pidge’s direction. There’s a smile on her face as she says, “See something you like there? May want to close your mouth.”

Keith goes to argue, but realizes he doesn’t have to open his mouth to do so because he’d been gaping at the newest addition to the jousting tournament. Point made, he closes his mouth in silent resignation and turns his eyes back to the knights, now assembled in a semi-circle around the bottom of the castle. The queen that had welcomed them all to the field was giving a new speech on how this tournament would bring “peace” to their nations, no matter the winner. At the end of the speech, she lowers her hands to the knights gathered around her and says, “Now, Honorable Sers, if you would please present your favors to the person of your choosing.”

Each knight turns their horses around to the “servant” walking onto the field, a cluster of six roses gathered in his hand. One by one, they each accept a rose, then usher their horses to trot around the outskirts of the field – just in front of the fence that separates the field from the gathered audience. Keith’s eyes never leave Shiro as he rides, so it’s easy to notice Shiro slip his hand into a small pocket just on the underside of his breastplate and pull something out. He’s on the other side of the field when it happens, so Keith has a hard time seeing what it is that Shiro grabs, but it draws Keith’s curiosity nonetheless.

After about three minutes of riding back and forth, random groups of girls cheering every time their favorite knight passes by, Keith is surprised to see Shiro riding in his direction on the very outskirts of the field. He hears Pidge and Hunk snicker on either side of him and Keith moves his eyes to Pidge, his confusion thick in his voice as he asks, “What’s so funny?”

Pidge only laughs harder and puts the palm of her hand in the middle of Keith’s back, shoving him forward. “Go get him, lover boy.”

“Lover -?” Keith starts, but is interrupted when a gauntleted hand comes into his vision. He feels his heart stop again and he turns his eyes to the crimson rose held gently between two metallic fingers. Keith feels his eyebrows scrunch together again, lost as to why there was a rose being held right in front of his face, and lets his eyes follow the metallic arm up to its owner.

Two eyes, black as night, stare at him from behind a thin slit in an iron hood. Keith recognizes the armor, the hand, and feels himself freeze in place as he tries to process what’s happening.

“For you, good sir. I do hope you find it worthy of your beauty.”

The voice is a gentle timber, rumbling softly from under the helmet. Keith swears he’s never heard a voice more enticing and, without thinking, he extends a hand forward until his fingers brush gently against the rose between Shiro’s fingers. He sees the eyes crinkle at the corners – an obvious smile from Shiro – and, though Keith can’t actually see it, he finds himself smiling back.

Before Keith can say anything back, Shiro is already pulling away, his favor left in the freezing fingers of Keith’s hand. As he turns his horse around to ride back and take his place among his fellow knights at the bottom of the castle, he winks at Keith. Keith feels his cheeks flush and, suddenly shy, he ducks his head and turns to walk the couple steps back to Pidge and Hunk… who are both doubled-over laughing at the entire exchange.

“He was –“

“And then he –“

“He gave him a rose –“

“After that _look_ –“

“I can’t believe –“

Keith scowls, the euphoria he’d had for the past twenty seconds at his and Shiro’s brief exchange immediately dissipating. He rolls his eyes and is about to shove the rose into one of his pockets when he feels something catch against its seam. He glances down and for the first time, notices the note affixed to the end of the stem. Hesitantly, he pulls the note from its spot around the stem and uncurls it. The handwriting looks like it’d be neat under normal circumstances, but was written hastily and against a surface that wasn’t solid, so there are spots that smudge into the parchment and become nearly illegible.

_I saw you at one of the stalls earlier and thought you were cute._  
_I get off at 7, after the final tournament. Wanna grab a drink?_  
_-Shiro_

Keith feels his cheeks grow hot, but a smile plasters itself across his face. He shakes his head, disbelief clouding out the fact that the laughing around him has stopped. Just as he’s about to tuck the note into his pocket, a dark hand reaches out to pluck it from his fingertips. He lets out a surprised, “Hey!” but Hunk is already dancing away with the note.

“’I saw you at one of the stalls earlier and thought you were cute,’” Hunk reads, his voice thick with sarcastic humor. “’I get off at 7… Wanna grab a drink?’ Oh my _god_ , Keith. You have a date!”

“I don’t –“

“Let me see!” Pidge says, swiping the note out of Hunk’s hand right before Keith can grab it. Her eyes skim the note quickly, a smile spreading across her face just as Keith snatches it from her grasp. She moves amber eyes to his, laughter in her voice as she continues. “You do _so_ have a date, you liar! And with the _Hero of England,_ no less!”

“Shut up,” Keith mutters, stuffing the note into his pocket. He can feel his face burning and is sure the blush covers most of his face and neck. “I haven’t even seen his face yet. Just because he wrote the note doesn’t mean I’m going.”

“Yeah, whatever. You’re into him anyway. We can tell.”

“Keep on thinking… whatever it is you’re thinking,” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest.

The tournament starts after that and is enough of a distraction that the sour mood that had started to creep its way back into Keith’s mind fades away again. He finds himself watching Shiro more than he actually wants to, but he can’t help it. He reminds himself, once again, that he hasn’t even seen the guy’s face - and just because he moves good doesn’t mean he looks good. He could look like an absolute mess of a guy. He could have long, ratty hair like most of the men here, or not care about his appearance at all and be an absolute wreck. He could even –

Whatever Keith was going to think of next is completely lost when Shiro finishes the final strike on his opponent. Keith feels himself internally cheer at the win and he watches as Shiro rides his horse to the base of the castle before the queen. He dismounts, kicking his leg over the back of the horse and sliding to stand on the ground, and removes his helmet.

Keith has to swallow the excitement that surges through his body immediately after.

Shiro is very much the opposite of everything that Keith had been thinking. Instead of long, ratty hair, Shiro keeps his hair close-cut – shaved on the sides with a little bit of length in the front. Once the helmet is removed, Shiro brings a gauntleted hand up to run his fingers through the white locks, brushing them back out of the way of his face. His jaw is chiseled, and his smile – even though Keith can’t see it in its entirety from this angle – is radiant. There’s a lined scar across his nose that Keith can barely see from this distance but is dark enough to still make out.

If Keith had to describe the way Shiro looks in a single phrase, he’d say he looks every bit the knight in shining armor that he’s currently portraying.

He hears a low whistle next to him and glances over to see Hunk giving him a sly glance. Keith rolls his eyes, but finds himself smiling. “Shut up, Hunk.”

“Would I be your friend if I didn’t give you shit over your choice in men?”

Keith laughs at that, every part of his earlier annoyance in the day forgotten. He moves his eyes back to Shiro again, the corners of his mouth still turned up in a gentle smile. Shiro, as if feeling Keith’s eyes on him, turns to look in his direction. Keith tries his best to hide his smile, fails miserably, and opts to hold the rose up between their gazes. Shiro grins, glancing from the rose between Keith’s fingers to his eyes, and – as subtly as he can – winks in Keith’s direction. Keith chuckles, nodding his head in silent agreement to the question hanging between them, and sees Shiro’s smile grow wider.

The tournament ends shortly after that. Keith, Pidge, and Hunk spend the rest of their afternoon going from stall to stall. Not once do they see an actual swordfight, and the only stall they find that sells daggers is closed for the day – the wares packed away so that they can’t even see them. Hours later, when the sun starts to set just after seven, they make their way to the front gates. Keith walks with a little more spring in his step, even though the rain that had been a simple mist earlier is now falling in steady, thick sheets of droplets. They make it through the front gates and Keith nervously twists the stem of his rose between his fingers until a shock of white hair catches his attention.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he steps forward, the earlier disappointment in the lack of new daggers and epic swordfights now replaced with the promise of a single rose; a simple, hand-written letter; and a shock of white hair.

**Author's Note:**

> I've only ever been to one Ren Faire, so this fic is based heavily on the faire I went to. If anything was written incorrectly, blame it on my terrible memory because, I'm telling you, it's awful. 
> 
> This was written for my lovely friend Ky over on Twitter. Thank you for everything, dear~ I had so much fun writing this!
> 
> If you enjoyed my work, keep up on my latest updates by following me over on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_daimonas) or [Tumblr](http://daiimonas.tumblr.com/). As always, comments and kudos are appreciated. <3


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